


Our five senses make us one.

by Ohgingersnap



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Beautiful, Between Seasons/Series, Bisexual Edward Nygma, Bottom Oswald Cobblepot, Canon-Typical Behavior, Dark, Dark Edward Nygma, Dirty Thoughts, Dom Edward Nygma, Dom/sub Undertones, Edward Nygma Has Issues, Edward Nygma Has Mental Health Issues, Edward Nygma in Love, Edward Nygma is Bad at Feelings, Established Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma, Feral Behavior, Gay Oswald Cobblepot, God Complex, Intense, Just Sex, Light BDSM, Love/Hate, M/M, Narcissism, No Spoilers, Not Beta Read, Obsessive Behavior, POV Edward Nygma, Poetic, Possession, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Oswald Cobblepot, Possessive Sex, Power Dynamics, Power Exchange, Power Imbalance, Power Play, Scent Kink, Scent Marking, Senses, Sentimental, Shameless Smut, Smut, Sub Oswald Cobblepot, Submission, Sweet Oswald Cobblepot, Threats of Violence, Top Edward Nygma, True Love, Unhealthy Relationships, Violent Thoughts, possesive Edward Nygma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:34:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24551659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ohgingersnap/pseuds/Ohgingersnap
Summary: Green meets purple, meets blue meets brown in a mold; a mix of color that in any other case would be ordinary, dare I say boring but no, not this time.----------------------------------------The sounds of a zipper being pulled here and the rustling of a shirt there.--------------------------------------------------------------This room was like our church and I was his god.----------------------------------------The smell of his cologne mixed with mine, the way as he rubbed, moved and danced, his worn away; losing a battle to mine until the only smell left on him was my cologne, my sweat, my smell.-----------------------------------------------------------------------The taste.Oh his taste--------------------I would never let him leave this bed if he allowed it.--------------------------------------------The feel of his lithe frame beneath mine, the way it quivered and shook with pleasure, our pleasure.------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Sex through the eyes of the five senses, or inside the mind of a very possessive Edward Nygma as he has Sex with Oswald.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 3
Kudos: 49





	Our five senses make us one.

**Author's Note:**

> This just flowed out of me, I have been wanting to write for this fandom for a while and well here we are. I am a very active reader and fan of Gotham So I am really happy to contribute this weirdly dark and poetic.....thing.
> 
> This has very minimal editing done to it because I Just wanted to be raw with it and post what flowed so yeah.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> I'll be seeing you all soon with more Gotham fics I'm sure.
> 
> P.s I listened to Beautiful crime by Tamer on repeat while I wrote this so if you want to listen while you read you can.
> 
> Till next time! :)

Green meets purple, meets blue meets brown in a mold; a mix of color that in any other case would be ordinary, dare I say boring but no, not this time. The mix of colors, the purple and the green fabrics placed on top of one another almost melding together at the seams, was almost erotic as they mixed and melded. The unwavering gaze of cool blue and warm brown, the transition from warm to cool as the two colors gazed into each other was anything but boring, if I had to put a word to it..It would be near euphoric. Yes, in another situation or circumstance those four colors mixed together would be ordinary,boring and maybe even disgusting as they mixed and melded, but not in this instance it just felt so..so right. 

The sounds. The sounds of a zipper being pulled here and the rustling of a shirt there. The rustling then turns into sliding that then transitions into rumbling like crashes, like the clouds before a strike of lighting, like a rocket before the take off, like a blade before it meets skin. The huffs and puffs of breath being exhaled from pinken lips, the choked off moans that are being withheld inside long pale throats. The crash off patent leather shoes being haphazardly thrown aside, like a wrapper on a beach, colliding like thunder with a nightstand, or was it the closet….I didn't care, couldn't care, No, not as long as at that little bird was singing so beautifully for me. His grunts and groans, _Oh god the groans,_ were the only thing in this forsaken room worth my attention. The only thing in the world worth the attention of such an intelligent individual as I, **The Riddler** . _And oh my_ , how beautiful the bird squawked my name how, holy almost he chanted it, again and again. _God I never wanted him to stop._

This room was like our church and I was his god, the one who had all of his attention, the one who called to him, the only one who could sink their teeth under those downy ink feathers far enough to pierce this bird's heart, _and oh how beautifully it bleed for me,_ the red of it dripping down into my steady hands, as his own shaky palms gripped said hands like they were a life line, _and oh they were._ The soft exhales and high pitched wines were like my own personal gospel written from him to me. I could listen to it all day, _I will listen to it all day, everyday,_ **forever.** This spheniscidae was **mine** , and **mine** alone to have, to hold, to fuck, to love, to punish, to cherish. Another whine followed by a plea of “Oh god, please, please, Ed.” Yes, **mine,** all **mine** , every inch of his pale blue mottled body was **mine.**

The smell of his cologne mixed with mine, the way as he rubbed, moved and danced, his worn away; losing a battle to mine until the only smell left on him was my cologne, my sweat, my smell. I loved it. The way his; a more feminine smell, one that was sprinkled with flowers;lilies and peppermint, fresh, floral and comforting was replaced by my more subtle masculine smell, one of green ferns with a metallic edge to them, one that whenever he smelled it, he would always compliment it, always have an excuse just to rub up against me and smell it, and now as we move together, as he rolls back into me; as much as his bum leg will allow him, is becoming covered in it, wallowing in it like a pig in a mud den, begging, aching crying out for _more, more, more._ **More** melded colors, **more** grunts of passion, **more** of that smell, **more of me.**

The taste. Oh his taste, was just as one would expect it to be, but also everything you never expected rolled into one little neat package stamped with a fancy name and a crooked smile. I hum as my tongue maps out the road to his body, traveling over rocky cliffs of bone, and the wavy seas of pudge that grudgingly stuck to muscle, regardless of his stature or the many wounds that decorate his body like ornaments. He tasted divine , like fresh cut grass drizzled in maple syrup, a bizarre description, but it fit him so perfectly. Fresh and clean with an undertone of the surgery sweetness that he hides behind bellows of grandeur and intensive posturing. But there was something dangerous there as well, like the copper coating on a penny, metallic and toxic and dangerous but _oh so intoxicating_ . The more I have him the more I **want,** the more I **need** . _And oh the more he is willing to_ **_give._ **

"Edward, please." **_Yes._ ** The gasp only spurs me on more, only adds fuel to the fire beneath, only adds more teeth to the monster that struggles against rattling chains inside of my chest. He makes me want to **break** him, to **hurt** him, to **love** him, to **remake** him; not in my image _no,_ there could never be more than one of me, but to build him up just as he once upon a time did for me. To remake him for this shriveling shell of a man, and reshape, rebuild, restructure him into something great, greater, more powerful than he can even be on a good day. He's powerful _yes,_ the way he bucks back into me growling with yellowed teeth bared, shouting half hearted threats as he demands to get what he wants. _Yes, he's powerful_ , but he is never more powerful than when I am inside him, when we are conjoined he is never more powerful, together we become **one** , together we reshape into something outside of ourselves something stronger than any two beings currently inhabiting this planet. We become true predators when in bed together, blue meeting brown, grunt meeting gasp. _Oh so powerful apart, but_ **unstoppable** _when stuck together._

I would never let him leave this bed if he allowed it, never let us separate, stuck together forever by sheer force of will and hatred, a hatred that oh so beautifully toes the line of love but one that never completely crosses over, one that could never be **just** love, be **just** hate. _No,_ **no** it is both, both silver lined shackles that drip with the crimson flow of blood, as well as white lilies potted on fresh rich soil that stretch, reach, bloom toward an never ending blue sky. We are both _power_ and **pain** , _weakness_ and **strength** , _courage_ and **cowardness** . _Together we are_ **complete** . Together we are truly whole and one, no more broken than we are fixed, independent and codependent on each other, forever forced to fight the line, the battle of love and war, and is it fair? That we are nothing apart nor are we more together, that we just... **are.**

  
  


The feel of his lithe frame beneath mine, the way it quivered and shook with pleasure, **our** pleasure, the way he convulsed around me like a vise grip to my soul, sucking the darkened haze out with each buckle and shake. The way smaller hands gripped my hips, nails like daggers digging into abused skin as he guides me more toward him, more _into_ him. The way my breath fogs and puffs against creamy skin, the way he fawns and begs for my finish, for more of **me.** The way blue cuts deep into my own brown orbs as he pleads his _god_ to give him what he wants, what he **needs.** The way he clings harder onto my sweat shined skin as I release inside of him, the way he sighs and says sweet soothing words whispered through clenched teeth as my hand meets his throat is... _nothing_ and **everything** at the same time, the _beginning_ and **yet** the end molded together, _gray_ and **black** mixed, _night_ and **day** combined.

  
  


Sex with Oswald is euphoric and nothing nor no one will **ever** be able to pull us apart. 

We are **one** , I am **him** and he is **I** , and oh, how I l **ove** my broken little birdie.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
